Chapter Three

Mr. Granger's Escape

The following morning, Hermione went about her normal routine. She said hello to Monica Wilkins, who offered her a cup of coffee. Monica was always up earliest and usually reading the local muggle paper.

It was in moments like this, Hermione could almost pretend things were back to normal. Her mum had started every morning with a cup of coffee and the newspaper, just like Monica.

"Did you see this article about the snow yesterday?" Monica asked from across the table.

Hermione paused, trying to decide how to answer. She didn't want to draw any undue attention to the wizarding world. She added a lump of sugar to her coffee and replied casually, "No, how unusual. It must have melted before any of us went out."

Monica looked uncertain, as though the answer to this peculiar riddle was just outside of her grasp. Her expression made Hermione exceedingly nervous. She could see Monica was trying to break through the memory charms. It was what Hermione wanted. But, she was terrified her mom's mind would crumble, just like her father's.

Finally, Monica furrowed her brow and said, "Perhaps so."

Hermione quickly changed the subject. "The housekeeper is running a bit late this morning. She's due in half an hour."

"It's no trouble. You know, I can watch him myself," her voice shook.

Hermione lay a hand on top of Monica's. "I know. But we need the extra help around the house anyway—cleaning, gardening, and cooking. Maurice is only a small part of her duties."

Monica didn't fall for this lie but nodded tearfully. She couldn't understand what had caused such a rapid deterioration in her husband. Alzheimers Disease the doctor had said. But there had been no signs and no warnings.

Unfortunately, her parents weren't Hermione's biggest worry this morning. She was still thinking about the Weasleys. She hadn't heard back from Ron yet. She knew owl post wasn't the fastest mode of communication, but she felt she should have heard something by now.

She drained the rest of her cup of coffee.

"Off to work?" Monica asked, fixing a small smile on her lips.

Hermione nodded. "Sure am. Anything you need while I'm out?"

Monica shook her head, and Hermione thanked her for the coffee and headed out the door. She walked down the drive a suitable distance before apparating to the ministry. The last thing she needed was Monica seeing her vanish in thin air.

The Ministry was busy as always. Its marble floors freshly polished and reflecting the silhouettes of important witches and wizards on the go. Hermione made her way to the elevator and took it all the way down to the basement.

"Level -10, Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office," began the droning recording.

She stepped off and headed down the hall to the left. Finally, she arrived in a small, messy office with two desks. She stood in the doorway. Relief flooding her chest. Mr. Weasley was leaned over his desk, prodding something with a quill. He was safe.

She knocked on the open office door, and he looked up.

"Oh hello, Hermione! What excellent timing! I was just having a look at this strange muggle item. Can you identify it?"

She walked over to get a better look at the item. "It's a Twinkie, Mr. Weasley. A muggle sweet. Very bad for your teeth, of course."

"Ah, very interesting." He shouted across to the only other employee in the department, a younger man in his 30s. "You owe me lunch, McMillan. I told you it was some sort of food."

The younger man shrugged and returned to his paperwork.

Mr. Weasley centered his focus back on Hermione. "Now then, what brings you? I'm sure you're not here to talk about Muggle snackfoods."

"You're right. I read in the Daily Prophet about the pureblood homes, and—"

"Not to worry. We're all safe. It seems the spell went after, shall we say, a certain sort."

A sigh of relief passed through her lips. "I thought as much, but I had to be sure."

"You're sweet to worry about us."

"How's Mrs. Weasley doing?"

"She's doing better. Still not quite herself after, well, after everything that happened. But she's getting out of bed. And she's really looking forward to Ginny coming home for the summer. Someone to cook for, you know."

Hermione nodded. It had only been a year since she had lost a son. It would take many years for those wounds to heal.

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Have you talked to Ron?"

Hermione looked at the floor. "Not in person. I'm just not ready."

"I hope you don't mind a bit of advice. I know your parents aren't, erm, recovered yet. Don't wait too long to talk to him. You've been friends for a long time, and good ones don't come around as often as you might reckon."

Hermione nodded. "I'll think about that."

"And whether you and Ron date or not, Molly and I consider you as a member of the family. You'll always have a place in our home."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," she said, dabbing at her eyes. He had no idea what those words meant to her. She hadn't even told Ron and Harry how bad things had gotten with her dad.

A return owl from Ron had arrived half an hour later, assuring her everyone was okay and asking her to lunch. Thinking about what Mr. Weasley had said, she accepted. Sure, it would be awkward at first, but their friendship was worth saving. After all, they had fought mountain trolls and death eaters together.

She checked her reflection just once more in the mirror, reminding herself this was NOT a date. Then, she apparated to Diagon Alley. They were meeting at Tom's Pub.

She saw a familiar crop of red hair and called, "Ron!"

He turned and grinned. "Hermione, you made it."

"Of course, I did."

They embraced, and it felt familiar, warm, and comforting. The same way it did when she hugged Harry.

They grabbed a quiet booth in the back to avoid onlookers and "journalists." After they had both sat down, an awkward silence passed between them.

"So, you look good," Ron said, breaking the ice.

"You, too."

"Really? I just got my hair cut," he said, running a self-conscious hand through his hair.

"I think the shorter look suits you. More Auror."

Tom took their orders, and the conversation flowed naturally into their jobs at the Ministry. Ron was an apprentice Auror. They'd bent the rules to allow him and several others in without the requisite N.E.W.T.s. Instead, resurrecting the position of apprentice and allowing him to train on the job with a mentor.

Then, they talked about Harry.

"Can you believe he's going to be a professor?" Ron said, mouth full of sandwich.

Hermione had another bite of salad and put her fork down. "Who else was going to take it, honestly? After everyone learned"—she lowered her voice—"Voldemort had cursed it."

Ron nodded.

"Even if the curse hasn't broken and Harry only makes it a year, he won't have any trouble finding a job."

Ron laughed. "That's true enough. We went to the Three Broomsticks last weekend. Had at least three people offer him a job while we were sitting there."

They lapsed into silence once more.

"Listen, Hermione. I'm sorry about what I said. You know, about your mum and dad."

Ah, they had finally reached it. The breakup.

After Hermione had returned from Australia, she had taken up residence in a muggle flat, officially moving out of Grimauld Place. Even though they weren't flatmates anymore, she still saw Ron on the weekends.

He came over to her place too. However, after a few months, Ron was adamant that her parents should be treated at St. Mungo's since Hermione didn't seem to know how to lift her spells.

Hermione insisted she just needed more time, although in retrospect, she knew she had been a bit frayed—her new ministry job, her move to the cottage, and the neverending series of lies she had to keep up with.

It was when Ron suggested she could do real damage that things escalated. Who could possibly care more about her parents? How could he even suggest such a terrible thing? They had an earth-shaking row. Both of them had said awful things. Worse, true things.

She bit her lip. The truth was he had been right. Maybe, she had done permanent damage. But she couldn't very well dump her parents off at St. Mungo's and "move on with her life" as Ron had put it in the heat of the moment.

She looked across the table at him. "We both said awful things."

Then, at the same time, they both said, "Can we still—"

She said, "be friends?"

He said, "date?"

They stared at each other in mutual horror. Ron's ears began to turn the color of his hair.

Before they could say more, a commotion rose from the bar. A man had just come in and was loudly telling a dramatic story. Others circled in to listen.

Without meaning to, she caught a few sentences, "You'll never believe it! A mad muggle wandering in South Larkhill with a pile of silverware."

Other started laughing.

Hermione threw down a couple of galleons and rushed to the bar. "Did you say a muggle?"

The man stretched his cheeks out and stuck out his tongue. "Oh, yes. A mad one. Do you want to hear what he did?"

"No," she said firmly. "Was he around 50 years of age? With brown hair?"

The man nodded.

Without another word, Hermione ran out of the pub.

Ron followed her. "Hermione! Wait!"

She disapparated on the spot.

When she arrived in South Larkhill, the crowd was already dispersing. She pushed her way to the center, but there was nothing left to see.

"Excuse me," she said to an elderly woman in canary yellow robes (likely a former Hufflepuff, she suspected). "Was there really a muggle man here?"

"Oh, yes. It was quite the fuss. He was wandering up and down the streets, shouting about something stolen and inventions."

Hermione's heart plummeted. Any doubt that this muggle was her father vanished.

The elderly witch continued, "A young man approached him to see what in Merlin's beard he was doing. The muggle stole the wand out of his pocket and started waving it around."

This was bad. This was really bad, Hermione thought. She tried to calm herself and asked, "The muggle. Is he okay? Was he…injured?"

"No, the young man seized the wand back and tried to put a body bind on him, but the muggle slipped away and took off running."

"Do you know which way he went?"

"Toward Malfoy Manor," she said, pointing up the hill.

Hermione began to run. She looked ahead and checked the ditches too. He could be anywhere. He could be hurt. Rarely had she felt so afraid in her entire life. Fluffy, the three headed dog, paled in comparison to this. Somewhere, her father was alone, uncared for, and roaming the wizarding countryside. He could be killed.

When she reached the top of the hill, she saw the sprawling grounds of Malfoy Manor below—a place she had hoped never to see again. Further in the distance, she saw the Manor itself, polished, cruel, and unforgiving.

The gates were slightly ajar, and her father stood mere feet away. He eyed the gap with keen interest.

Her heart lurched.

She tried to apparate bedside him but felt an immediate, sharp flash of pain. She felt as if she had run into a brick wall. She recognized the sensation as it had been described in The Apparitionist's Guidebook. "Before apparating, one should always ensure one is welcome. Not only is it polite, it could save you from being splinched! Anti-apparition wards are often placed for security measure and can be found in places like the Ministry of Magic, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and sundry other locations around Britain. If you attempt to apparate into such an area, you may experience splinching, bruising, broken ribs, dizziness, and other unfortunate side effects."

With luck and a measure of skill, Hermione was able to return to her point of origin at the top of the hill. She felt bruised, dizzy, and out of breath. Still, she was okay. Not splinched.

Knowing that she could not give up, she started down the hill at a run, praying that she wouldn't step into a nasty enchantment. She could only imagine what sort of vile magic awaited unwelcome guests, especially those of the muggle variety.

At the bottom of the hill, her father placed one hand on the gate.

"No!" she screamed. "No!"

He couldn't hear her. He was too far away. He pushed through the gates and entered the grounds of Malfoy Manor.

Hermione's breath was coming in gasps, but she didn't stop running until she reached the gates herself. By that time, her father was halfway to the manor. She started through the gates but felt an odd, magical resistance. Ordinarily, she would have stopped and completed diagnostic work before proceeding. However, in her present situation, she couldn't afford to lose any time.

Still wheezing, she pushed through the invisible barrier and into the eerily quiet grounds of Malfoy Manor. No more could she hear the sound of the local village or even the sound of birds or wind through the trees. She felt cold.

She shook the feeling. Her father needed her.

He was now a dot in the distance, having made his way to the front door. To her horror, it opened for him.

As she hurried after him, a loud, inhuman cry pierced the silence. She jerked her head around, looking for the source of the sound. Soon, others joined it, giving rise to a chorus of howls. Hiding in the trees, some hundred feet away, the dark shadows of wolves emerged.

Thinking she was unlikely to outrun them, she raised her wand to perform several defensive charms. However, they had no effect. The pack grew closers, and as they did, she realized they were not real wolves at all. They were shadows, shaped like wolves with sharp, jagged teeth and nasty snarling lips.

This was magic. Dark magic.

She ran. One of the shadows grew close enough to rip at her robes, tearing a bit of dark fabric and scraping her skin with its sharp teeth. They did not feel like shadows. They felt corporeal.

She couldn't keep this up much longer. Orbs danced in her vision, and a wave of dizziness overcame her. She tripped and fell face first onto the lush, green grass.

The shadow wolves circled her and began to close in.

Shakily, she rose to her feet, prepared to fight to the death. There was no one here to save her. No Harry or Ron this time. She was truly alone.

But her vision was impaired, and her breath was coming in wheezes now. She staggered and fell, and the shadow wolves closed in to claim their prey.

Just as it seemed all was lost, a figure arrived, shrouded in a bright, blinding glow of light. An angel perhaps? Hermione tried to squint through the light, but it was no use.

Everything faded, and all she saw was darkness.

A/N: I hoped to get more of Draco in this chapter, but all I managed was a teaser! Sorry!